


Promises. Promises.

by FlameBlownWhiter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Both technically 17... but like it's not a THING, Boys Being Boys, Drug Use, First Love, Kent Parson Trying SO HARD, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-college, Toxic love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 06:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameBlownWhiter/pseuds/FlameBlownWhiter
Summary: Wherein our boys make promises they can’t possibly keep.





	Promises. Promises.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelheadedhipster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/gifts).

The night was inky dark, with a high moon and wet in the way the Pacific Northwest was famous for. Kent was lying alone on his motel bed, they had won, but Zimm was the one who got stuck with press duty. Kent had taken a nasty hit to the side and the second they were off the ice the coach rounded him up and sent him to see the doc. 

He was fine. His right side was a mess of red and purple, splotchy and touch-sensitive, but nothing a little tiger balm and time wasn’t going to fix. Now he was waiting. Impatiently. Jack should have been back by now. Juniors press, even during the championship wasn’t nearly as big an ordeal as the NHL press, but the press did love Jack. The constant spectre of Big-Bob hung over him like a cloak. 

Kent didn’t mind though, didn’t mind being the second one in the spot-light. It kept people from asking too many questions about his family. He’d really rather not think about that at all. Not that they never asked, they did from time to time, but he had a number of stock-option responses for the press and Jack always knew when to jump in on a save - like the best line-men - and other things… 

They’d just started that bit in earnest. Though, if Kent was being honest, they had been dancing around mutual hand jobs and BJs for years. Another reason he was getting impatient. Kent really wanted his dick sucked. Fuck, Jack’s eyes when he was on his knees. Kent rubbed the front of his shorts - he might get started without Jack at this rate. Kent bit his lip and pushed his head back against the headboard - Zimm’s better hurry. 

Like a prayer answered, Kent heard the slide and electronic beep of a room key being used. Smiling a 100-watt smile, Kent swung up, his cock proudly showing through his sleep shorts, proud and ready for some attention. But, the second Jack walks in, he knows, Peenson isn’t going to get the attention he was hoping for. 

Jack’s posture is all wrong. Slumped in and concave around his chest. His midnight black hair blocking his eyes. Kent rushed forward, at once protective and confused. This is not how you look after a win. A win is fist bumps, insatiable smiles, and promises you couldn’t possibly know you could keep. 

Clasping his hands on Jack’s shoulders, grey-green eyes met blood-shot blue and Kent suddenly understood. 

“Jack.” He exclaimed in a shushed whisper. 

“Don’t start, Kenny. I’m too tired.” Jack threw his bag into the corner and started to strip, naked to the waist he flopped onto the bed, ignoring his boyfriends obvious concern. 

“How many, Jack?” Kent’s voice sounded cold to his own ears. Cold and tired. Shit, this rap was getting worse and worse. 

“As many as I needed to do it alone. I just grabbed a handful, I didn’t count.” He turned his eyes to Kent now, “Don’t be mad. OK. We won.” Jack’s eyes finally take him in and land on the still-obvious bulge of Kenny’s cock. Smirking, Jack licked his lips. “I can think of better things to do.” 

Kent thinks Oh, no, not so easy… and YESSS!!!!!!!!!! at the same time and, well, he’s only a male teenager what else was he going to do? When he finally gets close enough to the bed Zimms hands reach for his hips. Jack’s strong fingers dug into his bones, lifting him up so that he was straddling Jack’s waist. 

Jack smirked, his hand rubbing up the front of Kenny’s shorts, causing sparks to ignite in his spine. A lewd moan Kent certainly was not proud of, climbed from his throat. Suddenly there was a hand on his cock, his bare cock, dripping and slick, gripping him hard. Kent bucked up, biting his lip to keep from making any additional noise, but a muffled groan escaped him anyway. That felt so good...

Jack let’s him go and scoots him down towards the foot of the bed. Loose limbed, Jack doesn’t move gracefully himself. He sort of flops over and finds himself in front of Kent. It was not sexy and Kent is reminded of why. 

He opens his mouth, to say stop or we need to talk, or anything really, but Jack’s mouth whispers along the front of his shorts and that all goes out the window. All Kent can think is now and fuck and how do I get these shorts off. Wiggling forward he managed to push his shorts down, but trap his thighs in a vice of haphazard fabric. 

Jack leaned forward, his eyes blue-blue-blue against his hair and the cheap navy of the bed cover, burning cold in his too-white skin and sunken eye sockets. 

“Fuck, Zimms, like that.” Jack’s mouth on him tight and warm. Nothing could compare to Jack’s mouth, wet and soft and oh fuck a thousand times better than his overly-calloused hand could ever be. Head falling back, he let Jack suck on his cock for a moment, before reaching out, his hand finally finding purchase in Jack’s hair. 

Jack’s normal attention was slipping. Kent could feel it, his pressure becoming lazy and lax. He was so close. Growling, Kent tightened his hand in Jack’s hair and began pumping his dick in and out of Jack’s mouth. Jack’s a mess, but the sound of spit and tongue around his dick drives Kent forward. 

“Ohhh, fuck. Zimms your mouth. You don’t even know.” Kent moans looking down at Jack. Jack is… fuck… gone is the only way to explain it. Blissed out and fucking gone. His hand is under him almost stroking himself as an afterthought as Kent fucks his face. 

Something about seeing Zimms like this just fucking does it for Kent. He comes, his dick deep in his teammates throat. He keeps his eyes open, watches as Jack swallows what he can and licks up the rest. Moaning, like one of those porn sluts, as he does it. 

Fuck. 

Jack sits up and Kenny can’t help but notice he still hasn’t cum. Jack, turns his head to the side, still in whatever place he’s gone to. “Kenny…” he whines out, desperate. 

“Fuck, I’ve got you.” Kent says, and falls forward towards Jack, steadying himself on Jack’s wide shoulders, kissing him. It’s dirty as fuck. Kent can taste himself on Jack’s lips. Their tongues crashing and falling a part like waves on the ocean, neither relenting, purely forces of nature. By the time they come up to breathe, Jack has a hand on his own cock again and Kent has to move his hand out of the way. 

Jack’s cock is a work of fucking art, in Kent’s personal opinion. Large, but not in an unreasonable, Great American Challenge kind of way. And the way it feels in his hand, fuck. He can’t wait to feel it in him, but they aren’t quite there yet. 

When Kent stops admiring the view and actually puts his hands on his friend, the moan he is awarded with is fucking spectacular, deep and long, and it makes his hand move faster. Jack is grinding and writhing on the bed, fucking up into his hand, as if he could feel Kent all around him. Jack’s eyes are closed almost the entire time and when he does finally open them his eyes are more black than blue. 

“Kenny…” Jack whispered and cums between them. Thick ropes of cum spurting between them on the ugly cheap midnight blue comforter. Breathing hard, Kent crawled up to the top of the bed, taking Jack’s mouth with his. When Kent pulled back, Jack’s eyes were a little clearer. 

“Fuck, Jack.” 

“Congratulations. We are going to the Finals.” Jack said, grinning up at Kent as he hangs over him on all fours. It brings Kent crashing back to the present. 

Falling to the left, Kent props himself up on an elbow, looking down at Jack. Kent’s blonde hair a wild weed against the pillow case. “Jack, we need to talk about -” 

“No, we don’t, Parson,” Jack goes to stand up, his long legs twisting off the bed in one fluid movement. “Let it go.”  
“No, fuck you Zimms, you’re my…” Kent gulped down the word boyfriend and went with the safer word, “my line-man. I need to be there for you, and you need to be there for me. That’s the deal.”

Jack sighs, his back bowing out as he puts his head between his legs, his hands carding through his hair. “What do you want from me, Kenny. It was a mistake I told you.” 

When he turns to Kent, Jack’s eyes are all honest truth and sincerity. Kent immediately deflates, feeling guilty for ruining the afterglow or whatever dudes call it. Jack must see him recede, because he kicks himself around to face Kent full on, sitting indian style on the bed in front of him. 

“I promise, Kenny. I got this. We got this. I’m not doing anything I can’t control.” 

Kent felt his nerves relax and heartbeat go from the steady thrum of hummingbird wings to something more akin to a teenage boys. He huddles closer to Jack, wrapping his hands around his back in a hug. 

“We are going to be unstoppable, Jack. We are going to be the best there ever was, I promise.” 

Jack nodded. “The best there ever was.” 

\---

Three months later, Jack Zimmerman OD’d in a hotel room the night of the NHL draft.


End file.
